


Remember Me, Staring At The Sunset

by hallowgirl



Category: Political RPF - UK 20th-21st c.
Genre: (kind of), Affectionate Insults, Angst with a Happy Ending, Banter, Belligerent Sexual Tension, Camerband, Clamerband, Clameron - Freeform, Cuddles, Deadpan Snarkers, Fluff, Foe Yay, From friends to lovers, Hate to Love, Kissing, M/M, OT3, Opposites Attract, PMQs, Polyamory, Post-Election, from enemies to friends to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-21 07:35:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4820717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hallowgirl/pseuds/hallowgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The thing was, he'd thought it would always be the three of them; and he hadn't realised then that the three of them was something you only got for a short time, once, before they were pulled away in a slipstream of power, tossed onto opposite sides again, the way they were always meant to be."</p><p>As David Cameron waits for his first PMQs with Jeremy Corbyn, he reflects on the era he's still desperately trying to cling onto, even as it vanishes. Or more specifically, the two people he's still trying to cling onto. Angsty Clamerband. Inspired by the song "Wildest Dreams" by Taylor Swift.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remember Me, Staring At The Sunset

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'm about to post a second chapter of that long Camerband fic, (go check it out if you haven't) but then this popped into my head after watching Cameron's first PMQs with Corbyn and listening to "Wildest Dreams" on repeat and I had to write it. Originally, the ending was going to be far, far sadder. BUT I'VE BEEN KIND. Leave a comment if you like it!

_You see me in hindsight_  
 _Tangled up with you all night_  
 _Burning it down_  
 _Someday when you leave me_  
 _I bet these memories_  
 _Follow you around_  
  
_Say you'll remember me, standing in a nice dress_  
 _Staring at the sunset_  
 _Red lips and rosy cheeks, say you'll see me again_  
 _Even if it's just in your wildest dreams-Taylor Swift._  
*  
The ten minutes before are always the worst. David's used to it now, but this is different. Everything about it is different and after fighting for everything to be different, he finds himself sitting here now, wondering why different is the last thing he seems to want it to be.  
He wants to have Nick at his side, sitting there with the occasional touch to the elbow and the odd grin, telling him _It'll be fine, you know what Ed's like, once the two of you start yelling at each other, you'll forget about everything else._ He wants to walk out and see Miliband eyeing him across the despatch box, that smirk he's grown used to over the last five years, letting it spike that fury in his chest that makes him throw the words across the chamber, feeling that mouth against his jaw later, with Nick's hands in both of their hair.  
He knows that everyone else would think it's Corbyn that's the problem; Corbyn that's the thing he dreads. But it would be the same if it was Burnham, who he hoped for; the same if it was any of them. It's not the person themselves he dreads, it's the fact it's any other person at all. He remembers their first time standing across the chamber from each other, Miliband's eyes locked with his. (He still calls him _Miliband_ , sometimes; and Miliband throws out a _Cameron_ , every time David annoys him, which is often; Nick always laughs at the two of them, sometimes insinuating himself between them, so that they both end up scowling with their heads on his shoulders, until one of them will reach across Nick and slide their hand into the other's.)  
Everyone thought it would be him and Nick; perhaps sensed it would be him and Nick, even before they themselves did. He remembers the first time Nick smiled at him, that moment that David had felt a similar smile start from somewhere in his chest and make its' way slowly, inexorably to his mouth; the way that even then, he'd grabbed for that feeling, wanting to slide it between his ribs, even as he knew before it even started, that this couldn't last forever.  
Everyone thought it would be him and Nick; and maybe it was; but it was Ed first. And at the same time, but that came later.  
There's seven minutes to go and David stares down at the polished oak of his desk, and remembers how with Nick, it had been effortless, like sunlight bending on water; something that he could sink into as easily as a bed at the end of the day. It almost hadn't been a surprise to feel it, before he knew what it was.  
With Ed, it had been something sharp and sudden, like a shock of lightning every time the two of them faced each other, in public or in private; the seething drive underneath the times they'd end up inches away from each other, words spitting back and forth, David's hands almost catching at Ed's sleeve, almost grabbing his collar, but clenching into fists at his sides. It had been there, underneath the small smiles they sometimes shared, their eyes locking with everything they always had to throw at each other.  
The first time had been after Prime Minister's Questions; of course it had been, the two of them gasping for breath, still shouting at each other over yet another issue, one of so many issues, Miliband's eyes dark and bright at the same time, his cheeks flushed as the two of them had stepped closer and closer, their shouts filling the air until the two of them had been standing too near, their chests rising and falling and David had almost felt Miliband's skin before he touched it. He doesn't know even now who moved first, but then their mouths had been pushing into each other, their hands crawling into each other's hair, mouthing and hot and open.

Miliband had panicked at first; apologized and shouted and apologized again. It had been David who'd put his hands on Miliband's shoulders, told him to stop being sorry, and then they'd tilted their heads together, their noses brushing, their arms around each other, feeling Miliband's chest breathing against his.  
It had been them then, from that moment on, after PMQs each week, most other days somewhere in David's office or Ed's or anywhere they could find, still hissing insults between each kiss, but without the venom or maybe with something else that David loved too much.  
When it had been with Nick, it had been something so much quieter and yet something inevitable-one afternoon in David's office, leaning over a document, when Nick's hand had landed on his shoulder, the way it had so many times before. His thumb brushing David's neck, the way it had a few times before. David had waited for Nick to pull away, the way he always had before and when Nick's hand lingered for a second, David had tilted his head up and let their eyes meet.  
He'd known maybe when he was looking at Nick, then; what it was going to do. Because they'd looked like that before, they just hadn't let themselves know it. He'd kept looking as Nick watched back, his eyes darker and bluer than David had seen before, his mouth nearer and nearer until he'd tilted his mouth to David's softly, David's hand sliding into Nick's hair, the sunlight hot on their heads.  
After that, he'd told Ed; of course, he'd told Ed. He'd told Nick about Ed, moments after their mouths broke apart, both of them still trembling, their hands in each other's hair, and he'd waited for Nick to walk away. But Nick had just smiled, let his thumb brush under David's ear, and had whispered against his neck "Maybe that doesn't bother me."  
Ed had been more annoying (Ed was always more annoying.) But the annoyance had come with Ed's smirk and the words "So the Brokeback Coalition remains intact?" and David's retort of "Shut up, Miliband" had been lost under Miliband's mouth hot and gentle, opening his own.  
It had been when David stepped into his office one day to find Nick's hands in Ed's hair, Nick gently pulling his head back to smile at David over Ed's shoulder. David had stood there, wondering if he should walk out, if he should ask why they were in his office and then Nick had beckoned him. "Come on" he'd said quietly, that small smile at his lips. "We've been waiting for you."  
They didn't often talk about what it would be like; if it all came out. The risk they were taking, the way it could implode any moment. David said it once-it might have been after that first time that night, the three of them lying together, breathing each other-some form of _what will we do, what if it ends_ , and Miliband had rolled his eyes and said "Actually acknowledging an issue, Cameron?"  
Nick had slid one hand into each of theirs'. "We can be careful" he'd breathed. "This is just us" and David had known he meant more than their wives-not that he didn't think they knew sometimes, at the smiles they exchanged when they spotted the looks she cast between him and Nick and Ed when their wrists brushed or all three turned to look at each other at once, as though they'd rehearsed it beforehand.  
"Tory acknowledging an issue" Ed had breathed and "Labourite overlooking an issue" David had muttered and then Nick had groaned and said "God, I'm trying to sleep." They'd slept, the three of them, draped over Nick's chest, David and Ed's hands joined, the warmth of the three of them better than the blankets.

They'd fitted together-not just then, that first and all those other times, with their mouths taking frantic turns, their hands sliding into hair, the three of their arms wrapped in and out of one another in one chair. In meetings, PMQs, events, services-the three of them fit together. When they had to stand together, David would glance at Miliband on one side of him, quips darting out of the side of his mouth at David and Nick on the other, shaking his head at the pair of them, hand brushing each of their elbows and telling them to _smile, now, just smile, come on._ And they did because very few people could refuse Nick anything.  
David had known even then that it was going to end. That it would be over. That had been one of the strangest things about the three of them-that all of them had talked about it and not talked about it, as they slipped in and out of sleep.  
"What will we do" David had said once, and it hadn't been a question. "What will we do when this is over."  
Nick's hand had slid up to his shoulder."It doesn't have to be" he said, because Nick always had more faith than the rest of them.  
David had kissed him and then, letting his other hand wander down Miliband's jaw, "See, Miliband, I acknowledged an issue."  
"Shut up, Cameron." Miliband's voice had been soft, and his mouth had been at David's neck, and the three had lain there, drifting in and out of sleep, with their mouths kissing before they were awake.  
It was five years; and all David wants is to go back to it. He'd play it again but each time it would end the same way, and he doesn't know how to stop it each time. It was five years; and it was the three of them, across a chamber or a bedroom or an armchair, and David knows it. He remembers it, but he doesn't want to; he wants it to be here, and it's gone, out of reach.  
He wants to go back. To five years between the three of them. After that last PMQs, he'd half-pushed Ed against the wall in his office, his hands up his shirt, their mouths fighting with each other. He'd wrapped Ed's tie around his fingers like he could tie them together and then they'd been clinging onto each other against the wall, David's head burrowed into Ed's neck, gasping his name, Ed's nails digging into David's skin, breathing little sobbing whispers under his ear.  
When Nick had come in, he'd just pulled them both into the chair, and they'd sat there, the three of them, and for the first time, Nick had been the one who said to them both "I'm scared. I'm scared of this being a memory."  
David and Ed's eyes had met and it had been them who held him, held Nick as he shook for a few moments, let him fall apart just between them.  
For years, it's been him and Miliband at PMQs, their words thrown back and forth together. For years, it's been him and Nick sitting together, talking together, spending nights drafting speeches and plans together. It's been the three of them, thrown together so well they could forget they'd been thrown, because really, they'd always fit that way.  
David holds onto the memory of the three of them together, because that's what he needs. The only way he can walk out there and face another PMQs-a new PMQs, a new style, a new, a new, a new-is if he can believe that the memories are there, somewhere. The thing was, he'd thought it would always be the three of them; and he hadn't realised then that the three of them was something you only got for a short time, once, before they were pulled away in a slipstream of power, tossed onto opposite sides again, the way they were always meant to be.  
He remembers the three of them standing at the windows of Downing Street once, staring out into the garden, the sunset touching all of their faces at once. For a moment, David had almost hated the place, the place they fought over, the place that was tearing the three of them apart. But he couldn't hate the place, because it was the place he fought for and the place he loved, the same way the three of them were the thing he was fighting against and the thing he loved more than anything, more than he could stop himself.

He wonders if he'll dream about this time, one day, years in the future; wonders if anyone else will remember this or if it will just be lost as another era of government, another bunch of angry, backbiting people who lost what they really wanted in a sea of power and politics and debate. He wonders if that's all it already is to them. He wonders if one day, in the future, he'll wake up restless from a dream and wonder where Nick are, where Ed is. Who they're arguing with. What they're doing now. Even if he knows, he won't know the way he does now anymore.  
Five minutes to go. He lets his head fall forward, concentrates on his breathing. Rests his head in the cool darkness, the aching of those memories at bay for now, ready to surge back, a tide to carry him away the second PMQs is over, when there are no more arguments to hide behind.  
He wonders how long remembering will ache and knows that Miliband would say he's avoiding the answer and that Nick would laugh.  
The hand on his shoulder is a surprise and not a surprise. He looks round and it's Nick. Nick's standing there, looking down at him and David can't speak. The words are there but they won't reach his lips. Nick just watches him.  
"You think I wasn't going to wish you luck?" Nick's voice is soft, and then he cups David's cheek with one hand, the way only Nick and Ed know makes him feel this safe.  
There's breath on his neck and David knows who's there, knows before Ed's mouth opens warm and hot under his ear. "Our visits don't share the same purpose" and the lisp clings to the edge of the words the way it always does, and his mouth's sliding over David's neck, tongue dancing over the edge of his earlobe. David can't do anything but gasp, a moan threaded through the sound, but it's more than that-his hands are reaching for Nick and Ed at once, because they're here. They're back.  
"You think I'm going to wish you luck against my own party, Cameron?" Ed's mouth's skating over his jaw now, and Nick's kissing his hair softly, fingers combing through the strands the way David always loves, as if Nick's sorting out his thoughts for him.  
"That would be the polite thing to do, Miliband" he manages. "Not that you know much about that, I quite agree." His hand covers Nick, as Miliband rolls his eyes and then slides his hand under David's jaw, dark eyes watching David's.  
"Enough." Nick breathes against David's neck, and then reaches to smooth Ed's hair for a moment. "You're going to be brilliant, David."  
Ed rolls his eyes. "I'm loath to agree. But yes, you are."  
David wants to pull the two of them in, wants to inhale them both. Because they're here. They're really here. Ed's fingers fold around his own and he whispers "Cameron, I know you're slow to pick up on things, but we're not them outside."  
Nick laughs, the sound vibrating against David's neck. "We're still us" he says, because Nick always says things the simplest.  
David can't say it at first, because his throat's swelling and instead he just holds them both, holds them both tightly. "Thank you" he whispers, and that's when Ed beats Nick to it, pressing his lips into David's hair, which he then tidies. "Now" he whispers against his jaw. "Calm down, dear, before Corbyn walks to the easiest victory in history."  
"I think I can count on Corbyn not using your signature line, Miliband." But David kisses Ed's jaw, then, and Nick laughs, and sorts their hair. "Whatever lines he uses" he breathes. "We'll be waiting to dissect them afterwards."  
David blinks up at him and Nick brushes his hair back. "We'll be here" he says quietly. "Think it's time we separated personal from political, Dave. We'll be here. All three of us."

David stares at them both and then he pulls both of their mouths to his. It's three mouths at once, and it's soft and gentle and warm, and all of them together. It's long and when they break away, all three of them gasping, they all stagger to their feet at once, and David whispers "George'll commit murder if I'm late."  
Nick laughs and touches his shoulder. "I miss George's murdering."  
Ed is the one who reaches out and fixes David's tie again and Nick does the same to Ed. Ed's hand lingers on David's cheek, and then Nick kisses them both gently, chastely before he presses his lips to David and Ed's cheeks. David takes them both in and says "Thank you."  
Nick just smiles because Nick doesn't always need words, and neither does Ed but this is a moment when he does. Ed smiles and then says "You're welcome, Cameron. And thank you."  
"What for?"  
"For the chance to completely dissect every broken promise you've dished out later."  
David glares at him and Ed smirks until he smiles. Nick rolls his eyes and steps between the two of them, guiding them forward. "Come on. We'll have time later."  
David walks, with them on either side of him, and he's smiling. He's smiling because Ed's on one side of him and Nick's on the other, their hands brushing when they take a step and they'll have time later. There's a later and not just a used to be and dreams won't just have to be of the past.  
They walk towards the chamber and David can feel his smile growing with each minute as they near the door. Because the memories aren't just going to be memories, or they're going to be memories that will have more and make more. Because Ed and Nick are on either side of him and they'll have lines to dissect afterwards and arguments to have and time.  
They head for the door and they don't mind that they have to step away from each other because they'll have time after. They might not have the era they used to have. But they've still got the three of them. And they'll never have to wonder because they'll have the three of them. The three of them and not just the ghosts of dreams.

**Author's Note:**

> My OT3 are not going to be split apart by something as little as A NEW GOVERNMENT. AS IF. Leave a comment if you like it!


End file.
